the Wakefield Doctrine

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously…

Prompt word:

CROSS

The Sophomore, pressed back into the decadently soft leather upholstery as the black Maybach launched itself away from the Café, laughed, “Well at least Newton’s 2nd Law hasn’t been over-ridden by stealth nuns from Bavaria or hot-sounding women in red skyscrapers in Chicago.”

Rosetta Storme, Benson & Hedges 100 bobbing between her lips, every bit the lascivious concert master, frowned with impatience as Rue DeNite tried to light it; Rocco brought the sedan to a sudden stop to avoid hitting a dark-haired woman in a black Malini Handloom suit standing in the cross walk in front of the Six Sentence Café & Bistro; Rocco lowered his window to let out a smile, “If you’re standing in front of it, you know what kinda place this is, not for nothin’ but the entire staff might still be in a meeting, feel free to make yourself at home and if anyone asks, tell them you are a guest of Lou Caesare.”

The car resumed it’s trajectory down the lane, (which merged into an un-named street, followed by a turn onto an avenue and ultimately a crowded boulevard); Rosetta mimed deafness and both Rue and Rocco put on their isolation headphones.

Exhaling a menthol-fresh, laminar flow of tobacco smoke, the niece of Lou Caesare, in a spot-on application of Ernst Haeckel’s observation that ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny, at least the social context of a clueless college student and a fairly pissed-off young woman, her first words ripping through the cloud of nicotine and annoyance,

“First, that’s Newton’s First Law, not the 2nd.”

Pulling the girl to his shoulder, the Sophomore laughed, “Jeez, lighten up, I never said I was a physics major.”

Pulling back from the embrace, Rosetta continued, “And second, and this is the part where your even hinting at this being funny will create a future as devoid of the chance of any form of intercourse, as Neil Armstrong’s first stroll on the Moon, “Your name is Ethan?”

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.

Previously…

Prompt word:

CROSS

“Please, before you continue your explanation of how Mr. St. Loreto is very busy and not currently available, listen to me carefully. I’ve been behind your desk in reception not so long ago and one of the most valuable lessons I learned was: to get ahead you need to think outside the box, that, and be willing to take chances.”

Turning away from the Lake Michigan side of her office, Anya Claireaux faced the opposite wall and a single 97-inch OLED consisting of a mosaic of tiles that, judging from the natural light through windows showing in the feed, made it obvious that points all over the globe were represented. With the touch of a key and the click of a mouse, one tile grew to claim the middle fifty percent of the display, in it: an office reception area, a desk and a young woman biting her thumbnail; behind her a window looked down on palm trees, sunshine and enough turquoise to bring a summer smile.

“I don’t mean to sound cross, and be sure your recorder is on for this next, it will be useful in your unemployment claim, relay this to your boss: ‘I fuckin’ care if Mr. St Loreto is busy, pull down the shades, turn off the lights, cover him with a goddamn blanket for all I care, just get him on this line.’

And check your email, you’ll find a gift certificate to Neo Nails Brickell, a girl needs to splurge on herself every now and then, and I’ll hold,” Anya smiled as she genuinely enjoyed all aspects of her work.